Ice Dancer
by Wings of Indigo
Summary: When she was four, Gwyn nearly drowned after falling through thin ice- but she was saved by someone no one saw. Twelve years later, she was poised to rise to stardom in the figure skating world- when a reporter's question lead her to devastating injury. But within the dim remembrance of a long-ago winter, there is an old freind who might be able to help. T for language.


The most amazing thing in my life had its roots in the worst decision I ever made. Maybe that says something, I don't know. But what I do know is that I will never forget it- and that it got me where I am today.

This isn't a story about grand adventures or fighting evil or epic quests or anything. It isn't even a romance. But for all the glitter and fame in my life, for all the limelight, all the medals and victories I've won, my fondest memories are not of the glory, the fame, or a great deal of triumph. In fact, most of them have to do with failure- and a certain person. I'm sure you've heard of him; I've been lucky enough to meet him. Maybe I'll see him again; I probably won't. But I'll always be grateful. This is why.

On the day of Junior Eastern Sectional championships, I was gasping in deep breaths, head between my knees on the concrete locker room bench, trying to calm myself down. My long program-which would either get me in the qualifiers for Nationals or wreck my standing entirely- was three skaters from now, meaning about fifteen minutes tops; and I was hyperventilating.

I've never dealt with the cutthroat backstage environment of figure skating well- or the stress. I know what you're going to ask- then how the heck was I at Sectionals? The truth is, as long as I don't completely go to pieces in the locker room, as soon as my feet hit the ice, I'm good. I just float- nothing else is there, just the music, the ice, and me.

No, that doesn't mean it just 'comes naturally' and 'flows from my heart to my feet', or some other nonsensical magical crap. It looks that way- but try to do that, even with the greatest talent in the world, and you have a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding. I work for what I do- because skating is _hard_.

My week revolves around my skating schedule. Monday through Friday, I get up at four, drive to the rink, skate alone for an hour, run to school, try not to fall asleep, go back to the rink and practice for another hour, then, either go back home and try not to fall asleep over my homework, or, if it's a lesson with my coach (Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday), study with him for twenty minutes to a half hour before running back home and _then_ doing homework. And no, I don't get Saturdays off- on Saturdays I go to my supplementary off-ice ballet class and off ice conditioning and jump practice. Plus, on Mondays, I repeat that off-ice training course.

Sound fun? Didn't think so. Figure skating is like ballet and gymnastics. It's extraordinarily pretty, hard as – (well, fill in the blank), demands about ninety percent of your life, all of your body, is insanely expensive, most people are amazed by it, wish they could do it and can't, and it's stereotypically Russian dominated. (Which I'm not entirely sure is true.)

In short, anyone who does this at any advanced level is at least somewhat insane. Myself included. I have to keep believing that one day I'll make it to the Olympics. (See? I told you I was insane.)

All kidding aside, I do love it. Not the pressure or the backstabbing, the general bitchiness of the other girls and their mothers, the constant muscle aches, or the frequent injuries. Olympics aside, I just love to skate- it's the closest I can imagine flying directly on the wind might be.

I just hate the lifestyle it brings.

Anyway, introduction over, I was still trying to relax when my Coach, Tanya, jerked me out of it, and onto the rink side. I was next. With shaking fingers, I slid the guards off my skates.

"Okay. You know your program?"

"Backwards, forwards, sideways and diagonal."

She smiled. "Don't get cocky."

"How can I get cocky when my knees are about to collapse?" I answered sarcastically. The jitters would usually end as I stepped onto the ice, gliding smoothly into position. Until then, I was at the mercy of my nerves.

"Good point." Tanya admitted. "Remember your Lutz. Don't drift- concentrate. Every time you drift, you mess the landing."

I nodded, slipping off my hoodie and shivering a bit as the chill air of the rink hit the exposed skin on my legs and arms where my skating costume didn't cover. The music started- and Tanya gave my hand one last squeeze of reassurance before I stepped out onto the ice.

I was in the zone; the weeks and months of training this routine were paying off as my feet gracefully traced the steps in time to the music. Carefully, I executed the pattern, waiting until that dreaded Lutz- and just as the music swelled to the bridge, I gathered myself and leapt.

One.

Two.

Three.

And…there! I could have cheered; while I wobbled a miniscule bit, my calf straining to stay upright, I stuck the landing before gracefully gliding into my last spin and to a stop.

And the crowd had erupted in applause. A little dazed, I smiled and waved as they threw flowers and stuffed animals onto the ice.

A while later, I found myself on the award platform, the silver medal slung around my neck, as cameras flashed and microphones were shoved at us qualifiers faces. It was the same old routine- the same tired questions.

"What are your plans for Nationals?"

"What do you think of Niki Weber?"

Niki, the statuesque African-American girl who had pushed me out of first today, was someone who'd been skating nearly as long as I had- and we'd had the misfortune to be cast as each other's rivals. I really had no rivalry with Niki- she was a nice enough girl; we'd just been together so long because the only large skating rink within miles of our dinky small towns was the same.

In fact, I was somewhat grateful to her. As my mother was fond of saying, nothing stimulates drive like competition. And Niki was my best competition. The media, though, imagined us at each other's throats because of an incident several years ago- one I won't go into. (It's embarrassing. Don't ask.)

Vacantly, I continued to smile at the crowd of reporters. The winning high of finally qualifying for Nationals, even in second place, was beginning to wear off, and exhaustion from all the work was taking its place. I just wanted the reporters to leave me alone and go bother Niki for a while. "I think she is an amazing skater and that today, she had something I didn't. I also know that we'll both be training even harder than ever for Nationals, and I wish her the best of luck."

There- that couldn't be interpreted to horribly.

"What inspired you to pursue skating at such a young age?" One reporter asked, shouting over the others to be heard. I blinked, momentarily stunned. That was a new question- and one I could hardly answer truthfully.

"I guess-" I licked my suddenly dry lips, frantically searching the crowd for Tanya, who had gone to get water. "I guess- I just always loved it. It's been a family tradition to go skating in the winter for as long as I can remember- and I guess I was just lucky enough to get all the coordination!"

"Alright, that's enough guys," Tanya said, breaking through the crowd to grab my arm. "Gwyn's gotta go now. We'll see you later."

There was a large amount of protesting babble, but I gratefully let Tanya lead me back down to the locker rooms, away from the media. As soon as we entered, she sat me down on a bench and forced a bottle of water into my hand.

"Drink." She ordered. Reflexively, I obeyed, taking several sips before handing the bottle back.

"Okay, girl, you know the drill. Stretch and massage your feet before meeting me out at the van. I'll go field questions from your adoring public." Tanya said, screwing the cap closed and getting up. I smiled weakly at her, before unlacing my skates and complying.

The reporter's question still lingered in the back of my head, though.

_What inspired you to pursue skating at such a young age?_

I shuddered, remembering all too well. A lot of these girls are either pushed into this sport or feel obligated to continue- long after they've lost the interest that got them started.

Why I was here, though- if I had never set foot on ice again, my family would have been perfectly happy. Glad, even.

When I was four, my dad had promised to take us all ice skating, up at our neighborhood pond. We all were overjoyed- whenever he promised something, it was amazing- especially one of his 'special stories'. They were better than fairy tales- full of tales of mythical beings like the tooth fairy and sandman.

But it was my first time being allowed to go, and I was excited- and my brothers were slow. So, being the impetuous child that I was, I slipped out the door and headed to the pond. It was chilly- but once I got there, I was determined to skate. So, I laced on my miniscule hand-me-downs as best I could and stepped out onto the frozen surface.

I must have gotten to close to a dangerous area, because sometime after that in my memory, I heard the terrifying crack of ice underfoot- and plunged into icy water.

I shrieked. The heavy layers of winter clothing and the boots pulled me down- and I thrashed, frantically trying to keep above water, while not knowing at all how to swim. The cold seeped through everything, deadening and weakening my struggles. Far off, I heard the shouts of my brothers, and knew they would never reach me in time.

But then, blearily above me, I saw the flickering image of a boy who looked about the same age as my eldest sibling; with whitish hair and a blue hoodie.

I remember the concern- and the fierce determination on his face, though I can't remember entirely what he looked like. But he held out the wooden stick he carried- and yelled for me to grab on.

Somehow, I did, and he pulled me out of the water- and that was the last thing I knew before I woke up in the hospital being treated for hypothermia. Later, I asked about the boy who'd saved me- everyone said it was a miracle I'd survived. But everyone I asked said there was no boy- that somehow I'd hauled myself up onto the bank and dreamed him.

Eventually, I stopped asking- but there began my interest in the ice. From then on, I was determined never to repeat that experience- and to learn to skate.

With an impatient sigh, I pushed up from my stretch and began lacing my boots back on. I didn't want to remember that boy. For most of my childhood, he'd been my imaginary playmate- but I wanted him to stay that way. A pleasant memory, no more.

Carefully, I made my way back out to the ice, stepping onto it gingerly. This was the best way to forget- and a few more jumps and laps wouldn't hurt my legs. Slowly, feeling the flying sensation that came with skating, I breathed in and out, relaxing.

Gradually, the memory once again started to fade. Emboldened, I checked around for reporters, and decided to go for the Lutz again.

At first it went perfectly- my concentration was spectacular. But just as I was beginning to land, several things happened. A young skater, perhaps eight or nine, called out to me in amazement- just as my feet landed on a rough patch of carved up ice.

Distracted, my feet tangled and I went down. There was a tearing sensation in my ankle- and a surge of agony before my head knocked against the ice, and everything faded to black.


End file.
